


Transference

by glitteratiglue



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Feels, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Loki Needs a Hug, Prison Loki, Smut, tasertricks - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteratiglue/pseuds/glitteratiglue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being taken to Asgard with Thor and Jane, Darcy feels lost and alone following the attack on the city.</p><p>Tortured by her own pain she's buried for years, she finds her way to the dungeons and ends up getting stuck in a cell with a grief-stricken Loki.</p><p>When an accident of magic leads to them sharing more than just a cell, Darcy and Loki seek a simple distraction. But when were things ever simple?</p><p>Canon-ish but Darcy is in Asgard. Set during Thor: The Dark World.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transference

**Author's Note:**

> Another one for the Darcy Lewis Smut Week Challenge. Based on the prompt **locked in**. 
> 
> I should probably say that this is nothing to do with my other fic, Detachment. Different Darcy and Loki different time. 
> 
> (Spoilers for the Dark World, in case that wasn't obvious.)
> 
> Okay, please don't kill me....there's feels, but lots of lovely smut, too. I entirely blame the Loki prison screaming gif for this. And too many pictures of Tom Hiddleston's gorgeous long fingers. 
> 
> ** Huge love to the fabulous _evieeden_ for her beta eyes. **
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Small reference to self-harm. Just so you know.

The footsteps of the guard fade into the background.   

 

_Crack._

 

The furniture bends, snapping under an unseen force. Magic pours forth from him, limitless in its power.

 

Everything is too _green –_ the drapes against the far wall, the trim on the furniture. His clothes. He can’t bear it.

 

Catching his reflection in the mirror in the corner, exact copies of her green eyes stare back at him. It’s the last straw. His fingers tremble, and the mirror shatters. The buckle rips from his belt and before he knows it his coat and boots are shredded at his feet.

 

He steps on a jagged shard of glass and swears, trying to ignore the soothing ache that the pain brings him.

 

Red flashes behind his eyes, and his stomach clenches with the burning agony of knowing that _he could have saved her._ He never had the chance to tell her he didn’t mean any of those things he’d carelessly said just to hurt her.

 

Every breath burns, his heart thudding in his ears.

 

The fire burns out. Pages of books filled with ancient knowledge shred, falling to the floor as a macabre version of confetti.

 

_Her books._

 

He closes his eyes, forcing himself to concentrate. The air shimmers, and an illusion creates itself. If anyone looked in, they would simply see him pacing his cell, clothing and furniture intact.

 

Loki’s fingers flex and the furniture smashes, pieces flying across the room.

 

He feels nothing.

 

Finally, he screams, the sound ripping from his throat continuously until it’s raw.

 

It does no good.

 

He digs the piece of mirror from his foot, gasping with the pain, and then makes a split second decision to plunge it back in.

 

Normally, he could easily fix this with rudimentary healing magic, but not here. Not now.

 

He pushes the glass into the open wound, gasping at the agony as he twists it within his foot.

 

He knows he _deserves_ this pain. As he knows he would allow himself to be whipped, flayed, bound to a cliff and pecked by the crows for eternity if it would bring her back.

 

After a time, he blacks out, and when he wakes he knows no more.

 

Time passes, he’s not sure how much.

 

The food brought to him is ash in his mouth. The guards ignore his pleading questions, and he stops asking.

 

He is numb.

 

#

 

Night has just fallen. A human girl stands uncertainly in the depths of Asgard’s dungeons, wondering what the hell she’s even doing here. Ever since Thor ended up taking Darcy to Asgard along with Jane, everything had started to go to shit. She’d felt like a spare part ever since she’d arrived, despite everyone’s kindness towards her.

 

The world was ending, her friend had been possessed by an ancient weapon, and aliens had just bombed the hell out of the palace and killed Asgard’s queen.

 

Though she’d only met Frigga once, Darcy cried real tears at the funeral, holding Jane’s hand as the latter rested her head against Thor’s chest.

 

Nobody knew why Darcy was really crying. She was crying for the sake of the other son, buried deep within the foundations in his cell – the one who never had the chance to say goodbye to his mother – and she knew what that felt like.

 

Darcy finds herself down here in the dank caverns, approaching Loki’s golden cell. It’s nice. There’s a roaring fire, books, and she snorts at the fact that mass-murderers get such a good deal. Loki is on the other side of the cell, sitting on the bed with his back to her, reading.

 

She knows this can’t be a good idea. But her feet are carrying her forward, until she’s reaching out to touch the golden shimmering barrier. Just to see what would happen.

 

Darcy lurches forward, and finds herself inside an entirely different reality. The fire has burned out, there are blood smears and destroyed furniture all over the floor. Even the bed is gone.

 

Loki is slumped on the floor against the wall, his hair tousled and unkempt, eyes red-rimmed. His full Asgardian regalia is gone, and he’s barefoot, clad in just a simple tunic and his trousers.

 

Darcy has no idea what to say.

 

“I’m –“

 

“I know who you are,” he says brusquely. His voice is hoarse and scratchy, as if it’s been overused. “I am not the God of Mischief for nothing. You are Darcy Lewis, friend and assistant to Jane Foster.”

 

“How the hell did I get in here?” She can feel the panic rising within her, and the normally self-assured tone of her voice slips a little.

 

Only this would happen to her – getting stuck in a cell with a murderous, emotionally unstable psychopath with a penchant for trying to take over the world.

 

This was not good.

 

“Clearly, you hold something upon your person which allows you to breach the magical barrier of this cell.” Loki narrows his eyes, affecting a bored tone as if it doesn’t matter that this mortal girl sees him in this unkempt state. He wonders if his grief has caused his magic to malfunction, stripping away the illusion that keeps anyone from seeing him like this.

 

“I don’t think so,” she says uneasily. “So, how long until anybody comes down here?”

 

“Well, there are guards at the other end, but they only patrol every hour or so. Even less so once night has fallen, which it has.”

 

“How do you know that? I don’t see a clock in here?”

 

“I possess certain…gifts,” he replies, flicking his tongue lightly over his lower lip.

 

Darcy blinks, feeling a sudden rush of warmth between her thighs that horrifies her. She resolutely ignores it.

 

“Okay, so we’re stuck in here for now?”

 

“It appears so. Does that bother you?” Loki flashes his snakelike grin at her.

 

Darcy shrugs. “Not really. I just wish you hadn’t destroyed every damn thing in the cell. Do you not even get cable down here?”

 

Loki chuckles quietly. He rather admires Darcy’s spirit, if truth be told. She’s clearly not afraid of the infamous God of Mischief.

 

Taking in the state of the room, Darcy feels a rush of pity for the broken god, but fights to tamp it down. Loki has killed ruthlessly, and plotted to subjugate her planet. He doesn’t deserve her pity.

 

She breathes in, then out. Remembers a phone call, and then a hospital bed.

 

#

 

_“Darcy, honey, I’ve got something to tell you.” The face is loving, familiar, but Darcy hears none of the words._

 

_She blocks out the white noise of percentages and blast cell counts and stages._

 

Nononononono.

 

 _“I_ promise _you that I’m going to be okay for you.”_

 

_And she was mad. She screamed at her Mom, yelling that this wasn’t fair, she didn’t deserve to be left alone. She hadn’t even visited her in the hospital after that, because she couldn’t bear the pain of seeing that strong, amazing woman as a shell of her former self._

 

_#_

 

Her mom had broken that promise just a week later, when Darcy was out, sitting under the bridge and filling her angst-ridden diary with ink splotches and tears. She’d been planning her to visit her mom that very night, to tell her she was sorry, that she loved her and she’d be there.

 

Darcy had no time to prepare, to know how to feel sad in the aftermath. The years after had been spent propping up the household and taking care of her devastated Dad until she’d left for college.

 

She’d never been back home since.

 

Darcy blinks, her eyes filling with hot tears, and all she can think of is how inappropriate a moment this is for that memory to surface.

 

The room whirls and she finds herself on the floor next to Loki, his hands pressing to her forehead. He’s warm and the touch is so unexpected and comforting that it brings fresh tears to her eyes.

 

The warmth rushes through her, spreading right down to her toes. His eyes are closed in concentration, his fingers massaging her forehead carefully. It’s a release, and as it ebbs away and he removes his hands, she feels her emotional state return to normal.

 

Well, sort of. Darcy feels drained, so much so that she can’t even be embarrassed that she just broke down in front of Loki. After all, this is the man who’s lying in a heap of destroyed furniture.

 

“What on earth did you just do?” she asks accusingly.

 

“I inserted a projection into your mind to replace your pain, siphoning it off into my own mind.”

 

Her reaction is visceral.

 

“No!” Darcy screams, her hands reaching up to claw at Loki’s face.  He easily grabs her wrists as she struggles, and she quickly gives up. He lets her go. Slumping back against the wall, she glowers at him, massaging her wrists. “That’s private! You sick son of a bitch, do you get off on people’s misery?”  

 

She’s distracted by something else happening inside her head. Unfamiliar images flicker before her eyes.

 

#

 

_A young boy with dark hair, conjuring butterflies while his mother looks on, smiling._

 

_The image dissolves into darkness._

 

_A cruel voice speaks. “No, Loki.” No hope. Lost. Then falling, falling._

 

_Another jolt, and they’re in this very prison cell._

 

 _“He’s_ NOT _my father.” The words are venom._

 

_“Then am I not your mother?” A warm, loving voice._

 

_“You’re not.” He reaches for her, but the image shimmers away, leaving Loki alone._

 

Darcy opens her eyes and is almost surprised to find herself still here, because what she can see seems so real. That’s when she realises that these images aren’t visions. They’re memories.

 

 _Loki’s_ memories.

 

She’s expecting Loki to be furious, but the green eyes upon hers are soft.

 

“Okay, how is this…?” Darcy enquires. If she was feeling drained before, she’s not at all sure how she feels now, with centuries’ worth of pain and bitterness coursing through her.

 

“Obviously my projection was a little stronger than anticipated,” Loki says calmly. His eyes focus on her with a curious expression. “It appears that instead of just siphoning off your pain, I have poured some of my own into you.”

 

“No shit,” Darcy replies before she can stop herself. “Well, in case you feel like doing it again, know that I’ve got enough of my own without having to deal with the pain of a god as well.” Once again, she shakes her head at how surreal this is.

 

Loki smiles wanly. “Please know that I did not do it just to get into your innermost thoughts. If I had wanted to do that, I could have done it easily. You were in pain, and I felt moved to do something. Something of that magnitude is a lot for a mortal to bear.”

 

“It was a rough time,” she says flatly, hoping he can’t hear the quaver in her voice. “But I got through it.”

 

Loki tips her chin up with his hand, forcing her to meet his eyes. His gaze is so intense it’s almost uncomfortable. Darcy takes in the line of his perfect cheekbones, those piercing green eyes, and is immediately disgusted with herself. Warmth rushes to the juncture of her thighs, and she shifts uncomfortably with the sudden need for some friction.

 

Is she _attracted_ to Loki? Not good, not good.

 

“I think it’s still there. But you have strength in you, mortal girl,” Loki says without a trace of amusement. “My mother had the same strength.”

 

“Thank you. I’m not sure I do, though.” Tears threaten to spill from Darcy’s eyes. This is getting ridiculous. Loki is a dangerous man, known to exploit any weaknesses and vulnerabilities of his enemies. And here she is giving him ammunition.

 

Stupid human emotions.

 

“I have seen you, Darcy Lewis,” Loki presses on in earnest. “I watched my brother’s adventures on Midgard with great interest, as I’m sure you know.”

 

She gives him a sharp look, pulling away from him. “Oh, you mean when you tried to kill him and all of us with that metal fire-breathing thingy?”

 

Loki passes a hand over his eyes wearily.

 

“I have done many things I regret. That will suffice. When I turned my gaze upon Midgard, I _saw_ you.  I have seen the secret sadness in your eyes that you hide behind your jokes.”

 

“If you’re the girl who can always make everyone laugh, people never look past it,” Darcy admits. “It’s safe.”

 

Loki’s hand shifts to her face, to trail fingers over her cheek. It’s an innocuous enough gesture, but again, Darcy feels that jolt in the pit of her stomach that feels suspiciously like arousal.

 

She shrugs away from his touch.

 

“You shouldn’t blame yourself, Darcy,” Loki says softly. “I’m sure your mother knew you loved her.”

 

Darcy laughs darkly. “Says the man who destroyed his entire room because he blames himself for his Mom’s death. You didn’t do this.”

 

He visibly tenses. “Do not talk about that which you do not understand,” he spits, his words pure ice.

 

“They say she was tough, your Mom. She died protecting Jane.”

 

“She shouldn’t have had to,” Loki chokes out, and she can see he’s shaking from the effort of holding himself together. “I should have been there to protect her.”

 

“Well, whose fault was that?” Darcy wants to take back the cruel words as soon as she’s said them.

 

Loki’s eyes flash with rage, and for a moment she’s certain he’s going to lash out and hit her. Or vaporise her. Or turn her into a snake. Darcy’s pretty sure she read something like that under the ‘Loki’ entry in Erik’s book of Norse mythology.

 

“You’re quite right,” Loki says, composed once again, in his impeccably charming manner.

 

However, on the inside he’s trembling with fear and revulsion at this outward display of emotion in front of her. In front of a mere _mortal._

 

At the same time, Loki is acutely aware of just how close Darcy is to him, and flicks his eyes over her form, appraising her. Perhaps it’s just been too long since he had a woman, but even the sight of her soft curves in that artfully draped Asgardian gown is enough to make him painfully hard.

 

For some reason he feels as though he _must_ have her. He wonders what she would feel like under his fingers, taste like under his tongue. He has a longing to find all the places that will make her cry out, make her scream for him.

 

Loki sweeps Darcy’s hair behind her ear and presses his lips to her neck in a wet, open kiss.

 

Darcy tries not to react, but can’t help the moan that escapes her. She thinks about getting up and moving away from him, but still she doesn’t do it.

 

She reminds herself that they’re both emotionally vulnerable, Loki is a hot god who has just invaded her mind, and then there’s the fact that she hasn’t been laid in months. All these things put together make this entirely Not. A. Good. Idea.

 

Except she can’t stop herself. Loki’s hand comes to rest on her thigh, and her sharp intake of breath betrays her response.

 

He smiles wickedly.

 

“Are you taking advantage of me?” Darcy says sternly.

 

“Would I?” he smirks, rubbing slow circles on her thigh as his fingers move inexorably upwards. “Are you not taking advantage of me in my grief, Midgardian?”

 

Darcy’s not quite sure why she does it. Maybe it’s to shut his infuriating ass up. Maybe it’s just to feel something that’s not the loneliness of being in a strange world where everything has changed. Or maybe, she knows deep down that they’re exactly what the other needs right now.

 

She leans in and kisses him lightly on the lips. For a moment he seems surprised, but then responds eagerly, his lips moulding to her own as he returns the kiss with a force that leaves her dizzy.

 

Loki is green and gold and pale and _heat_ against her lips, the warmth of his tongue surprising as it explores her mouth. Breaking the kiss, Darcy pulls her glasses off, throwing them to the side because it doesn’t feel right to have something in the way of this.

 

She realises her dress has somehow been rucked up above her thighs, and Loki’s body is immediately flush with hers. She can feel how achingly hard he is, and he grinds against her, relishing every quiet moan and whimper that falls from her lips.

 

Twisting her hands in his dark hair, she tugs his face back to hers, biting down hard on his lip. She’s rewarded with a low, animalistic groan and a thrust against her clit that sends her reeling.

 

“I need…” she mutters, not sure what she’s about to say. Loki presses his fingers to her lips.

 

“Shh.”

 

Loki’s fingers reach down to drag over her belly and lower still, tracing the curves of her hipbone.

 

She’s expecting him to touch her over the cotton, so it’s a shock when his hand grasps her undergarment and pulls, ripping it off as if it were paper.

 

“Spread yourself for me.”  Darcy wordlessly complies, kind of hating herself for obeying Loki, while also being ridiculously turned by the request.

 

His long fingers slip between her slick folds, and she’s almost embarrassed at how wet she is. His talented thumb presses to her clit, while two fingers plunge inside her. His fingers orchestrate an infuriating dance, just enough to have her writhing and moaning, but always pulling back before she can fall over the edge.

 

Loki twists his fingers inside her, and then his thumb does something that makes the world shatter around her.

 

Darcy grinds onto his hand, gasping through her release. He quickly covers her mouth with his own, his tongue fucking her mouth as thoroughly as he was just fucking her with his fingers.

 

She feels utterly debauched, her dress bunched up around her waist with the God of Mischief’s fingers still buried inside her.

 

Loki withdraws his fingers and sucks them clean one by one, taking his time.

 

Darcy’s panting with want, and her eyes are drawn to his crotch and the outline of his cock against the fabric.

 

She doesn’t know the half of it. Loki is _aching_ for her, his arousal almost agonising against the tight waistband of his pants.

 

Darcy fiddles ineffectually with the drawstrings holding his pants on, and he moves her hands away with a smile. The next second, she feels cool air on her skin and finds that they are both stark naked. Neat trick, she thinks. Screwing a master of magic definitely has its benefits.

 

Loki leans forward on his knees and Darcy takes a moment to just appreciate the sheer otherworldly beauty of him: the long, pale lines of his slim but well-muscled body, leading to a taut abdomen and sharp hips; his cock curving up towards his stomach, hard and leaking for her.

 

His eyes lock on hers and she can’t even feel embarrassed that he’s looking at her naked body with such unashamed lust and need.

 

Darcy takes him in her hand, and Loki’s quiet moan gives her a feeling of immense power. She flicks her thumb against the head of his cock, leaking with pre-come, and he hisses in pleasure.

 

He presses her back into the floor and all she can think is that it’s a good thing there isn’t a piece of glass under her ass right now. She guides him to her entrance, and the tip of his cock nudges against her.

 

He meets her eyes as if he’s giving her once last chance to back out, but she couldn’t even if she wanted to.

 

Arching her back, Darcy wraps her legs about his waist and pulls him in. It’s fast, and there’s a slightly painful stretch as she takes him in a bit too quickly, but she doesn’t care.

 

As he slides into her, Loki lets out a ragged gasp that’s distinctly un-Loki-like. He drags her lips to his in a messy, breathless kiss. When they begin to move, there’s nothing controlled about it, all finesse giving way to raw power and need. Loki’s mouth trails wet, open kisses down her neck, lips closing around her breast and biting down unexpectedly.

 

His tongue flashes cold, and the contrast is so perfect Darcy nearly comes right then and there, with his teeth grazing her nipple.

 

Her fingers fist in his tangled hair, pulling hard enough to hurt because she _wants_ it to hurt. Wants it to hurt enough to make everything else not hurt quite so much.

 

Loki senses the change in her, and his thrusts become more aggressive, his hands sliding down to grip her hips almost painfully. She rakes her nails over his back, knowing she can’t really hurt him but enjoying the feeling of digging into his flesh.

 

Darcy wants there to be bruises tomorrow left by his long, powerful fingers. She longs to wear his agony like a brand on her skin, in the hope that it will cancel out her own.

 

She moans into his ear, and he pushes harder, pressing deeper than she ever thought possible. The unashamedly lewd sound of skin meeting skin is the only sound in the silence. Her eyes squeeze shut in ecstasy.

 

“ _Look_ at me,” he hisses.

 

Her eyes snap open, and to watch Loki’s face as he slowly, expertly fucks her is unbelievably erotic.

 

Sex has never felt this good for Darcy before. She’s never been this wet and open for anyone in her entire life, and all her previous conquests strike her as being deeply unsatisfying compared to this. Frankly, sex has never felt this dirty before – not that she’s bothered by that at all.

 

Darcy knows this is so wrong, that it’s Loki. But she doesn’t even care. He draws pleasure from her like he already knows her body intimately, finding every spot that makes her toes curl and breathless cries fall from her lips. Although he is like a thousand years old or something, so he’s clearly had time to get good at this.

 

That particular thought draws a giddy laugh from her and a raised eyebrow from him, but his hips never break their rhythm.

 

Loki finds Darcy to be a most eager and responsive lover, and he delights in every whimper and moan he coaxes from her.

 

He tilts his hips so that with each thrust, his pubic bone pushes against her clit. That perfect feeling clenches inside her, and she arches her body into him, wanting more.

 

 _So good. Please._ The words die on her lips before she can say them, incapable as she is of speech right now.

 

She’s almost there, but wait. _Tears?_

 

Darcy feels a dampness on her cheeks. _What the hell?_

 

As her eyelids flicker open, she realises the tears are Loki’s.

 

The green eyes meet the blue, and there’s no wickedness dancing in them, no amusement. For the first time, Darcy sees what lies within Loki. The weight of a life lived in shadow, shaped by bitterness and the choices made for him. The shocking vulnerability hidden beneath the spite and sarcasm.

 

Loki knows what she sees, and it terrifies him. He’s never felt more naked with someone. He’s no longer the one in control, and tries to calm the rising panic surging within him.

 

He stills inside her for a moment, his hands pressing tight into her hips to prevent her from moving. He hopes she can’t notice how much his hands are shaking, but then the mortal does something that completely surprises him.

 

Darcy leans in to press the softest kiss to his face.

 

Loki is oddly touched by the gesture, but he allows the moment to pass. Pulling all the way out of Darcy, he slams back into her hard, relishing the loud, breathy moans he draws from her with every movement of his hips.

 

They move together in a slow, jagged rhythm, and he pants hot against her neck, his kisses becoming wettier and messier and imprecise. It’s intimate and almost…tender? He watches reverently as Darcy’s eyes fill with tears from the intensity of it all, tears he brushes away with feather-light kisses.

 

Loki reaches down to press his thumb against her clit, and then she comes, the world exploding behind her eyes as he drags her into a deep, mind-blowingly intense second orgasm.

 

Darcy bites her lip so hard that it bleeds from the effort of not saying his name. She’s not going to give him that satisfaction, if nothing else. He draws out her climax, his thumb rubbing circles into her as her thighs tremble against his hips.

 

Seconds later, he spills himself inside her with a final deep thrust, letting out a noise halfway between a groan and a sob.

 

Darcy collapses, boneless and sated beneath him. Loki grins and it’s almost as if she imagined their tears, if not for the telltale wetness on her cheeks. His tongue darts out to lick the blood from her lip and she whimpers, unable to take any more stimulation.

 

Loki’s head drops to her neck, his full weight on top of her and she thinks how freaking heavy he really is. She’s going to get squashed at this rate.

 

“Whoa, heavy god alert. Getting crushed here,” Darcy says hoarsely, between shaky breaths.

 

Loki rolls off her and Darcy feels an acute emptiness as he leaves her, even though she can feel his stickiness running down her thighs. There’s a growing soreness between her legs, and she just knows that she’s going to ache like hell tomorrow.

 

_Totally worth it._

 

He pulls her into his chest, smirking as if he can read her thoughts. Which he probably can. _Oh crap._

 

She’s impressed he can pull that off the whole “wicked, panty-dropping God of Mischief” routine after he just cried on her, but then again, it _is_ Loki.  

 

She retrieves her glasses from the floor beside them and places them back on her face. She’s amazed at how peaceful she feels in his presence, and though she can’t tell what he’s thinking, it appears that he feels the same.

 

Looking down, Darcy notices the ugly red gash on Loki’s foot and her eyes widen.   

 

“You should really get that thing on your foot checked out. It looks nasty.”

 

“It will heal easily with the proper encouragement,” he says, clearly not paying the slightest bit of attention to his injury. “I must confess I didn’t really notice it what with the other…distractions.”

 

“And you _really_ need a haircut,” Darcy adds. “Seriously, what is that bird’s nest on your head?”

   

His lips curve into a smile against the top of her head.

 

“Says the girl who wears those ridiculous Midgardian eyeglasses.” He smirks down at her.

 

“Look, buddy, if we’re gonna get like that, I could just tell all the chicks in Asgard that the God of Mischief cries during sex.”

 

“Perhaps they all already know what I do during sex?” His green eyes are glittering, and Darcy yet again feels that strange magnetic pull towards his lips.

 

Loki freezes. “Someone’s coming,” he says.

 

With a thought from him, they are both fully dressed, as if it had never happened.

 

“Wait, Loki,” she says quickly. “You still haven’t told me what exactly I did to get myself in here. What object was I ‘holding on my person’?”

 

But Darcy never gets the answer to that question.

 

In an instant, she’s back in her sleeping chambers, lying on the bed. It could almost be a dream, apart from the delicious throb between her legs and the feeling that her brain’s been through the emotional wringer.

 

Her heart thumps in her chest, and with every beat she thinks of him. Exhausted, sleep finds her, and Loki’s memories haunt her dreams.

 

#

 

Loki decided it was probably better she didn’t know he’d tricked her into the cell with a simple illusion.

 

Originally, it had just been to tease the girl for her foolish notion of coming to spy on the caged prince. He had planned to toy with her for his own amusement, maybe frighten her a little before letting her go. It hadn’t quite turned out that way.

 

Inwardly he was in turmoil. How could it be that this girl, this fragile mortal creature, had seen past his tricks to the very heart of him?

 

Darcy Lewis had seen inside his soul, and recognised in him the pain that she held within herself.

 

He should have destroyed her while he had the chance. He could have, so easily.

 

Loki closes his eyes, making sure the illusion is back in place.

 

 _Thor._ What on earth could his brother want at this hour?

 

**Author's Note:**

> I maintain that this is totally canon. It IS.


End file.
